Please Don't Let Me Hit The Ground
by consultingpathologist
Summary: The Fall, told by the three people who knew. Set during S2E3.
1. He

**_The result of listening to one of your favorite songs and thinking about your OTP..._**

* * *

><p><em>Heaven, a gateway, a hope<em>

_Just like a feeling I need, it's no joke_

_And though it hurts me to see you this way_

_Betrayed by words, I'd never heard, too hard to say_

_Up, down, turn around_

_Please don't let me hit the ground_

_Tonight I think I'll walk alone_

_I'll find my soul as I go home_

_**New Order - "Temptation"**_

* * *

><p>Of course it was Molly. It was always Molly.<p>

It had just begun to drizzle as he left John behind at Kitty Riley's flat and made the long trek to Bart's. He had no choice but to walk, the police were looking for him. Drawing up his collar to shield the wind, he set off into the night.

The sounds of police sirens echoed through the dark alleyways, but he did not hear them. His mind was only thinking about the pathologist. That day he first met her he knew something was different. All of the other doctors he'd worked with previously had been either incompetent or irritating. There was Caroline, who chattered too much about her ex-boyfriends, Bobby, who constantly second guessed himself leaving Sherlock to wonder how he ever got through medical school, Samantha, who wore dark make-up and rarely said anything other than "fuck off", and various others who barely left an impression and were soon deleted from his memory. Sherlock had begun to wonder if the whole hospital was run by complete morons or if he just had bad luck.

That changed the day he met Molly Hooper.

* * *

><p>He bent over the microscope to analyze the soil sample taken from his most recent case. It was blissfully quiet. He'd gotten rid of the annoying lab assistant by sending him on an impossible errand to find a specific brand of cyanoacrylate that didn't exist.<p>

But just as he had begun to relish his victory, the door swung open. A sigh escaped from his lips. Couldn't these people ever leave him alone?

He looked up without moving his head from its position and saw Mike Stamford stride into the room followed by a young woman in a lab coat.

"Sherlock, I'm glad I caught you. I want to introduce you to Molly Hooper. She's a new pathologist and usually works in the morgue, but perhaps you've seen her in the lab. I know you've had your differences with some of our other doctors, but I think Molly and you might hit it off. She's one of our brightest."

She blushed a little at the compliment and looked sheepishly at Sherlock.

He studied her. He _had_ seen her in the lab before. _Early 30s?_ She looked younger than she probably was if she was already through medical school. _Short stature. Long brown hair pulled back. Brown-eyes. Right-handed. Visibly nervous. Only child. Drops of coffee spilled on her sleeve. Went to a pub the previous night._

She looked progressively more nervous as he scrutinized her and made a small laugh before offering her hand to break the silence. Sherlock paused but shook it. She had a surprisingly firm grasp.

"Nice to meet you. Mike's told me a lot about you. You're a detective then?"

"Consulting. Yes."

Mike's mobile rang. "Have to take this, excuse me." He exited the room leaving Sherlock and Molly alone.

"Are you working on a case right now?" She walked over to the table and looked at the slide he was studying.

"Murder case. Trying to figure out if a suspect's alibi can be proved."

"So let me guess you're comparing the dirt found at the scene to that found on the suspect's shoes."

He leaned back on the stool and studied her more carefully. Molly had figured out what he was doing in one glance. Impressive. "Yes."

"Do you need some help? It's a slow day in the morgue. Good for people, bad for me." She laughed feebly at her own joke. He added '_morbid sense of humor' _into his mind palace.

He proceeded to tell her the details of the case and they worked together to discover that the suspect was indeed in a different area of London than the crime, proving his alibi to be true.

It was only later that night at Baker Street that he realized he'd finally found someone he could actually talk to and work with without feeling agitated.

It was the beginning of their working relationship.

* * *

><p>From that moment, Molly was the only pathologist Sherlock would work with. There had been such an immediate trust formed right from the start that Sherlock barely even noticed. Until now.<p>

_Now_.

_Now_ that his ruin was evident.

_Now_ that death was a possibility.

_Now_ everything was suddenly clear.

There was only one person he could turn to. One person who could help him defeat Moriarty. Of course, Mycroft was already working on the case with him, but he needed someone to be there for him. Someone who counted. Someone who _mattered_.

He wouldn't blame her if she said no. Everything he had ever said to her raced through his brain. One of those instances, that awful Christmas party when he'd been so wrong, stuck out the most. She'd entered the room with her face glowing with happiness that he felt could only have been the result of a new lover. He'd been so blind, so _stupid_. Never before had he felt such regret. He could criticize John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade without a second thought. But with Molly, it had made him feel shameful. She had only ever been kind to him and the thought that he had hurt her was inconceivable. He had tried to walk away as if it were anyone else, but found he couldn't. It wasn't just _anyone_. It was Molly. He had apologized but it didn't feel like enough. He promised himself he would never do that again.

He was never wrong. And yet Molly seemed to always surprise him. His feelings that day surprised him. It mattered what Molly felt. He never wanted to make that mistake again. He wouldn't.

* * *

><p>He waited for her in the lab. The same place where it all began.<p>

He knew her schedule down to the minute. The fact that he always showed up at Bart's when she was working was no accident. Whether Molly knew it or not, he always planned it that way. When the other pathologists complained about his presence there, Molly would gently explain to them in her quiet but determined way about his need to use the lab. She was always so warm, so caring. Always making everyone feel at ease and knowing how to diffuse any tension.

How could he have ever underestimated her?

Her footsteps sounded in the hall. He looked at his watch. Exactly on time.

He moved towards the center of the dark room and faced away from the door so she couldn't see his face. What was this nervous feeling that had suddenly come over him?

She entered the room and went straight to a side office. He heard some papers rustling. After finding the ones she needed, she turned out the lights and just as he heard her approach the door to leave, he spoke.

_You're wrong, you know. You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you…_


	2. She

_Each way I turn, I know I'll always try_  
><em>To break this circle that's been placed around me<em>  
><em>From time to time, I find I've lost some need<em> _  
><em>_That was urgent to myself, I do believe_

_Oh, you've got green eyes_  
><em>Oh, you've got blue eyes<em>  
><em>Oh, you've got grey eyes<em>  
><em>And I've never seen anyone quite like you before<em> _  
><em>_No, I've never met anyone quite like you before_

* * *

><p>Molly looked at the clock and was amazed to see it was already time for her to leave. Her back was stiff from being hunched over her desk and she raised her arms to stretch it. After the distraction with Sherlock earlier, she had spent the remainder of the day catching up on paperwork. The time had gotten away from her.<p>

After debating for a moment whether to stay and work late, she decided against it. The day's lab analysis could just as easily be read at home in her comfortable pyjamas. Her muscles ached and she yearned for a hot bath. While stifling a yawn, she gathered her things, locked her office door behind her, and staggered down the hallway to the lab.

All day she had been thinking about her conversation with Sherlock. It hadn't been all that unusual, but that look he gave her...what _was_ that?

It had started out with Sherlock being his normal self-demanding her assistance with the lab work, forcing her to cancel her lunch date to help with his case, calling her "John". She didn't mind helping Sherlock with his work, in fact she enjoyed taking part in solving cases, but it was that last one that got under her skin, not that she had anything against John. It was just the fact that sometimes it didn't even seem like Sherlock was aware of her at all. She was just a body. Someone to assist him.

A spark had been ignited within her. She was sick of being ignored, sick of being taken for granted. Before she could stop herself, she was opening up about her father. Some part of her was hoping that Sherlock had a heart and could somehow relate. She let him know that she could see right through his façade. Something was up and she knew it. It wasn't just a kidnapping, it wasn't just a case, _something_ about it was bothering Sherlock and she wanted to know what it was.

Sherlock had been surprised.

_What could I need from you?_

She didn't really know but she offered her help anyway.

_You could probably say thank you, actually._

He did. It had surprised her. Usually he would have just said something snarky. And something about the look on his face was different, but maybe she had been imagining it. It was Sherlock after all.

She sighed. He would probably never change, but maybe, at the very least, he understood her better now. It felt good to release some of her feelings on him no matter what effect it might have.

The lab was quiet when she entered. After retrieving the necessary folder from the lab assistant's office, she turned out the lights and was just about to exit when a familiar deep voice sounded from the middle of the dark room scaring her out of her wits.

* * *

><p><em>What do you need?<em>

_You_.

This was a Sherlock that Molly had never seen before. Vulnerable, exposed, emotional, sincere. Telling her she counted.

She _was_ right. This was not an ordinary case.

Sherlock swallowed and blinked away the tears that had formed in his eyes. "It's Moriarty. He's trying to destroy me and I have to let him."

"I-I…tell me what to do."

"I need you to believe in me. Even when the whole world doesn't. I need you to be there for me. Can you do that?"

* * *

><p>Molly was wired. She was on her third cup of coffee since her conversation with Sherlock. He was holed up in the lab while she kept an eye out for anyone that may be searching for him. Thankfully the pathology department was empty in the early mornings. She sat in her office with the door open, listening, waiting, nervously drumming her fingers on the desk. If anyone was headed to the lab, they would have to pass by her first.<p>

She tried practicing the deep breathing exercises she'd learned in her brief fling with yoga to calm herself. _In and out. In and out_. The plan was set. All they could do now was wait.

After an hour of breathing and fidgeting and worried pacing, Molly saw someone out of the corner of her eye pass by her door. She lurched forward and spied Phillip Anderson headed down the hall.

"Ander-I mean, Phillip, what are you doing here?" _Do anything, say anything, just stop him._

"Oh Molly, have you seen, Sherlock?"

Here was her first test. She was going to have to get better at lying for Sherlock's sake.

"No. He wouldn't be here this early. Why what do you need?"

"He's under arrest for kidnapping, well he was before he escaped. The whole police force is looking for him." He looked rather pleased with himself for being the first to share this information with her.

Molly led him inside her office, not wanting to chance anyone else hearing.

"What? What are you talking about?" She hoped she sounded surprised.

"Turns out he created this whole Moriarty business. He's been leading us on this whole time!"

Molly laughed, this time being genuine. "Phillip, do you honestly believe that Sherlock would kidnap children and commit all these crimes just to show off?"

"Y-yes. I mean, I think so. Maybe. It's the only explanation for how he was able to solve those cases so quickly."

"Come on, you've been around him enough to know he's _that_ smart. No one could be that good of a fake."

"Well, I _guess_ so."

He had been glancing around her office and suddenly narrowed in at an object on her desk. He reached down and picked up a piece of paper.

"When was this taken?" He turned it over and revealed a photograph of Sherlock and Molly.

Molly took the paper, forgetting that she had printed it out. "It's from Greg's party a few weeks ago." The police department had thrown a surprise party for Lestrade's thirtieth anniversary on the force. Molly had gone even though she was worried she wouldn't really know anyone. She had been surprised and delighted when Sherlock had shown up. John had forced him to go and she had been grateful to have the two of them to talk to.

At one point during the night, Greg had taken a picture of the two of them. Molly wasn't even aware of it until Greg emailed it to her a few days later. It was the only picture she had of the two of them and she loved it. It was a candid shot. Molly had been sitting at the bar and Sherlock had come up behind her and said something into her ear making her laugh. The picture was taken the second after had caught the moment perfectly-she in the middle of laughing and Sherlock smiling down at her.

Anderson was eyeing her suspiciously. She set the picture back on her desk as casually as possible.

"If I see him, I'll let you know."

As he was leaving, Anderson turned around, still with an odd look on his face, "Are you two…" He paused and shook him head. "Never mind, I'll see you later, Molly."

Molly breathed a sigh of relief when he left. As she peeked out the door to make sure he didn't head toward the lab, she saw something at the far end of the hallway that made her stomach turn. A dark figure was opening the door that led to the roof.

_Moriarty_.

He hadn't seen her.

Her heart raced as she texted Sherlock and Mycroft.

It was almost time.

* * *

><p><strong><em>I intentionally left the whole Moriarty plan vague. I think Sherlock was (at least partially) lying when he was explaining it to Anderson and Molly did a lot more than we'll probably ever know. I hope you like my theory about why Anderson knew Molly was involved and pictured them kissing. He's obviously seen something that we don't know about…<em>**


	3. Them

_Bolts from above hurt the people down below_

_People in this world, we have no place to go_

_Oh, it's the last time_

_Oh, it's the last time_

* * *

><p>Mycroft read the two-word text message and sighed deeply.<p>

_Molly Hooper - SH_

His little brother could be so slow. _Honestly_, how did he even function as a detective? It was just as well that Sherlock had not taken that government job that had once been offered to him. England would have fallen long ago.

Mycroft had seen this coming all along. Of course Sherlock was going to have to involve the pathologist in their plan. Not only was it wise to have a trusted contact at the hospital for the plan to run smoothly, but also because his brother was in love with her.

While he could have mentioned this to Sherlock earlier and saved them both time, Mycroft preferred not to get involved in his brother's personal affairs. It was bad enough dealing with Sherlock alone, let alone ordinary people and all of their messy relationship problems. Luckily, Sherlock's relationships were few and far between, mainly consisting of one-night stands during his period of heavy drug use, so it wasn't much of an issue. Love had never been a factor then. But _now_…

Frankly, Mycroft had never seen his brother have this sort of attachment to another person before.

He had first been made aware of his brother's feelings for the pathologist one day nearly two years ago at Baker Street. Mycroft was not used to being surprised, but what he had witnessed that day, though seemingly insignificant, had certainly shown him that his brother was not immune to forming an attachment with another human being as much as he might disagree.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock, I was finally able to get you something fresh. I hope lungs are okay, they were all we had…this…time. Oh sorry, am I interrupting?" The young petite woman who had just burst through the door suddenly stopped in her tracks upon realizing there was a stranger in the room.<p>

"Excellent!" Sherlock exclaimed, leaping cat-like from his chair. He took the plastic container greedily from her hands and headed immediately towards the refrigerator. "Molly, this is my brother Mycroft. I'm sorry you have the unfortunate pleasure of meeting him." He made the informal introduction over his shoulder as he exited the room.

"Oh right! I should have known. He's told me about you. I can see the family resemblance. I'm Molly. Molly Hooper. I work at Barts." She stammered through the words. Mycroft was aware of his intimidating presence on people. There was something quite enjoyable about watching people squirm in his presence. But this doctor, though nervous, seemed to remain quite cheerful and genuinely happy to make his acquaintance. _Most unusual._

"Yes I know." He was pleased at least that she was too nervous to shake his hand considering what they had just been holding. Human organs in a flat-_honestly_! Sherlock's hobbies confounded him.

Mycroft studied the young doctor with greater interest. Sherlock had mentioned Dr. Hooper in passing on more than one occasion, but he was struck by their familiarity with one another. In those brief words spoken between them he detected a sort of _friendship_.

His brother had always drawn the attention of women, but once they had spoken to him most left with a cold, disgusted look in their eyes, muttering an "arsehole" under their breath as they discovered his true character.

This plain, unremarkable woman with a friendly smile and mismatching clothes had willingly come to Baker Street and, before laying eyes upon himself, looked rather pleased at the prospect of seeing Sherlock.

The combination of her flushed appearance and overall eagerness to see him could only mean one thing: she was in love with his brother. A woman who had seen Sherlock's true character and worked by his side on a near daily basis that actually _liked_ him. It was quite extraordinary.

The thought made Mycroft's eyebrows rise in amusement. His brother had an admirer. _His brother_. With a sudden interest in this newly discovered attachment, he turned his attention to Sherlock who had just reentered the room. He expected Sherlock to shoo her away now that she had done her duty. But he didn't.

"Molly, I will be stopping by Barts later this evening. Lestrade wants me to take a look at a suspected drowning victim."

"Oh yeah, that one just arrived. Unidentified male, late forties, pulled from the Thames, suspected suicide."

"I have reason to believe this man is connected to the recent string of jewelry store robberies. I need to know the exact contents of his stomach."

"His stomach? Well…Caroline's on shift right now-"

"I can't work with her you know that, Molly. In fact - come on. I need you to perform the autopsy. Mycroft, I believe we're done here."

"But-" the young doctor stammered out protests as Sherlock pulled on his coat but ultimately seemed to give in. The blush on her face deepened and a small smile on her face indicated that accommodating Sherlock back to Barts was not an unwelcome task.

"What about matter we discussed?" Mycroft asked, tapping his umbrella on the floor. He was annoyed at having been dismissed so flippantly.

"It seems I have a much more interesting case at hand. The government can sort out its own problems. Or rather, isn't that your job anyways, _dear_ brother?" Sherlock sneered at him and then led Ms. Hooper out of the room before slamming the door behind them.

Mycroft let out a huff standing in the now empty room. He had a feeling his brother would refuse the case, as he usually did for anything involving the government. But the trip to Baker Street hadn't been entirely fruitless with the arrival of a certain pathologist and this new discovery of Sherlock having a _friend_, an _admirer_ even…oh yes it was very interesting indeed. He filed this bit of information in his brain for future blackmail purposes and sauntered out the door and into the waiting car, smirking the whole way.

* * *

><p>Mycroft poured himself some scotch and sat down in a leather chair next to the roaring fireplace to mull over the situation in his mind as he waited.<p>

Their attachment was quite obvious from the start and Mycroft had only been reaffirmed of Sherlock's feelings after one particular Christmas Eve.

* * *

><p>"Hello?" The female voice on the line was tinged with sadness, not the way one would expect to sound after several Christmas drinks.<p>

No doubt Mrs. Hudson's little party had ended in disaster. He'd been invited of course, but the thought of spending time in that flat with all those irritating people - it made him shudder. He did not _do_ Christmas. He was surprised that his brother would even allow such a thing in his flat. Mrs. Hudson must have bribed him somehow.

"This is Mycroft Holmes. I need to identify a body in the morgue. My brother and I will meet you there."

"But…I'm not scheduled for tonight. There's already someone-"

"I need _you_ specifically. It's an acquaintance of my brother's."

"Does this have something to do with the gift Sherlock received tonight? He went to his room and wouldn't come out the rest of the night. Nobody knew what was going on."

Mycroft ignored this though she was correct. "Female, dark hair, pale complexion, thin frame, short stature. I believe this will be enough information for you to locate the body."

"Well…I-I guess I can. I'm not busy tonight, well, not anymore that is-"

"See you in thirty minutes, Ms. Hooper."

He hung up the phone sharply wondering what his brother had done to make Molly upset.

Ah yes, _Christmas_. Always such a _delightful_ time.

He grabbed his coat with a bit of annoyance at the thought of having to venture out into the snow. If he weren't genuinely concerned about the impact of Irene's death on his brother, he wouldn't have gone to all this trouble. Sherlock was prone to sentiment much as he wouldn't admit it. Mycroft hoped that having his favorite pathologist present might help to soften the blow of Ms. Adler. The last thing he needed was Sherlock turning back to drugs to find comfort.

The viewing of Irene's body did not go as he planned. He thought having Molly would be of some comfort to Sherlock, but instead, thanks to his brother's screw-up that night, her presence had only added to his unhappiness. From what Mycroft had gathered as he read between the lines, Sherlock had made an unpleasant comment to Molly at the party which had upset her and in turn had upset him to a greater extent. The way he looked at her told Mycroft that though he had apologized, he still greatly regretted his words. Sherlock had finally become aware of his feelings for Molly, but at the precisely wrong moment.

* * *

><p>That Christmas night had only confirmed what he already suspected - the fact that Sherlock loved Molly back. He was just slow as usual to realize it, as usual.<p>

Mycroft downed the last few drops of scotch from the glass in his hand and set it on the table. He picked up his mobile and sent a few last minute instructions to the others involved in the plan. Everything was set in place. Now it was just a waiting game.

The next few months would be virtually back to normal for him, but he couldn't help think about the pathologist. His brother would be in Europe eliminating the rest of Moriarty's network. That would keep him busy for quite some time. Meanwhile, Ms. Hooper would be left in London alone to deal with the fall-out. Sherlock and Molly knew all the same people. She would be the only one who knew what really happened and she wouldn't be able to talk to anyone. Now that she was involved, Mycroft wondered if she was really aware of what it all meant.

They had been working on the plan for months now, perfecting every detail. It had taken every possible scenario into account. It was foolproof.

But now, there was one more person who knew.

Sherlock would not bring someone else in on it unless he trusted the person fully. It was too dangerous.

His phone buzzed jolting him from his thoughts. It was a text from Molly.

_He's here._

Mycroft sat back in the chair waiting for the signal and just a few minutes later he received it.

LAZARUS

Upon reading the word, he made the necessary call and sent back a reply.

LAZARUS IS GO

The plan was in motion. It was now out of his control.

So he waited.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, his very-much-alive brother strolled into the room.<p>

"Well it's done." His voice was hoarse and his clothes looked rather tattered. A few traces of fake blood clung to the side of his face. He let out a loud sigh and collapsed into the opposite chair.

"Yes."

They sat in silence for some time, both ruminating over the day's events and the next steps that needed to be taken.

Mycroft was the first to break the silence. "There is a car waiting to take you to the airport."

Sherlock nodded distractedly staring into the fire. It was all part of the plan.

Mycroft cleared his throat before speaking again. "There is one stop I have instructed it to make, however, before then."

This caused Sherlock to turn towards him. His eyes narrowed. This was not part of the plan.

"I don't think it's wise for you to leave without saying goodbye. It may be the last time you see her for quite some time."

Sherlock stared at him in disbelief making Mycroft cringe at having to spell it out for him.

"You have an important mission ahead of you. I don't want you distracted. You have to tell her."

"Tell her what?"

Mycroft sighed. "Don't make me say it, Sherlock. Just go see her. You will regret it if you don't."

Sherlock turned back toward the fire lost in his thoughts before he finally rose minutes later with a sudden urgency. "I'm ready."

Mycroft stood and the two brothers walked to the waiting car.

Before getting inside, Sherlock turned back and cleared his throat. "Goodbye, Mycroft." His voice was strained as though he was holding back words that he wanted to say.

Mycroft nodded.

He watched the car until it was out of view. His brother was sentimental as much as he might try to deny it. Luckily, he'd found someone who shared those feelings.

Molly Hooper had saved his brother in more ways than one.

* * *

><p><em><strong>This poor neglected fic. The worst part is that this chapter was almost finished and has just been sitting here all this time. Apologies to any of you still following this story! Will try to get the last chapter done sooner.<strong>_


End file.
